Zodiac Unmasked (20 page)

and he says, ‘Another one, another tip.’ I said, ‘Charlie, this is a brother of the man that he believes is our kil er and he lives in Val ejo. This sounds

awful y good. He real y wants to talk to us,’ I explained. ‘We can’t turn it down.’ He said, ‘OK, get on it.’ Then we ran it by the chief of inspectors,

Charles Barca. ‘You usual y get your best information from a member of the family,’ he said. I had a smile on my face.

“Ron was so sincere on the phone, within thirty or forty minutes we’re talking to him in the lobby of his workplace. As soon as he came out of the

elevator, we looked at him. He was very slender, wearing a suit, and balding a bit. The strain had obviously worn on him. I could see a bit of relief

that San Francisco was involved and I realized he recognized us.

‘Thank you, Inspectors, for coming down so quickly,’ he said. ‘I’ve just got to talk to you.’ And we sat down and took some notes. Soon as we

spoke to him I could detect the truth coming out of his mouth.

“Initial y, what we did was listen. If you want to learn something, you listen. We asked him if we could speak with his wife. He said, ‘Of course. I’d

like you to speak with my wife because she feels like I do.’ And we felt this sounds pretty good, the best that we ever had of any suspect, with a

brother coming forward and not being satisfied with what the other sheriffs’ and police departments had been doing.

“We told him we’d like to come to his home that evening and take in-depth statements with his wife and get some proof and corroboration. ‘I

hope you don’t have a problem with that,’ I said. ‘No,’ he said, ‘My wife feels the same way. We’re both frightened. I’d like you to talk to my wife.’

“We cal ed Jack Mulanax to set it up. ‘I talked to the guy,’ Mulanax said. ‘We’ve checked Al en out pretty wel .’ ‘I know,’ I told him, believing him to

a degree, ‘but Ron’s giving us some more information and we just have to tel you we’re coming into your territory. It’s police courtesy. The brother

cal ed us. We can’t put it away.’” The behavior of the Val ejo P.D. had always puzzled Toschi. It was as if a second mystery underlay the watery town

of Val ejo, invisibly affecting the investigation at every turn. “For some reason Lynch and Lundblad didn’t want to come to some of our early

conferences in Sacramento. And here Bil and I are driving ninety miles up there.

“We arrived at the Al en home at 7:30 P.M. It was stil light out. Karen had expected us, but rambled for twenty minutes not real y saying anything.

It was corroborated later that evening how serious they took us. ‘I know there are a lot of leads coming in and clues,’ she said. They had consulted

an uncle before cal ing, to be certain they were doing the right thing.

“Everything was coming out slow, but every time she would say something of substance, Ron would shake his head, and say, ‘Yes, that’s true.’

They were both in sync with each other out of their fear and concern that he was stil out there.

“‘We’re very frustrated,’ Karen told me. ‘We just don’t know how serious Val ejo took us. I know there are a lot of leads coming in. We just

decided to cal you because we were seeing your name and Inspector Armstrong’s name in the papers.’ ‘Because of the letters to the
Chronicle

and the media coverage,’ I told them, ‘we’re getting it al . We sure would like to spread it around a little more.’ That got a little chuckle from both Ron

and Karen. ‘When we get a cal , we take it seriously,’ I told them. ‘We just decided, you took the time to cal , we’l take the information now and notify

the detective from that jurisdiction, see what he knows and maybe it wil ring a bel .’

“I noticed that Ron was speaking with even more emotion than earlier. It was as if a little frustration had entered Ron and his wife since they saw

nothing more was coming from the Val ejo investigation. Ron and Karen told us that Leigh had spent time in Southern California and was familiar

with the area, but they weren’t too sure exactly what he was doing because he was on his own a lot.

“As we progressed we learned about the school in Sonoma and that he had a trailer up there. ‘Leigh has a couple of old junkers, old beat-up

cars,’ Ron told us. ‘He’s what you would cal a professional student.’ Al en’s sister-in-law told us that the suspect was now residing alone in a house

trailer in Santa Rosa part of the week [Tuesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays]. Apparently this is where he kept al his personal property. We just didn’t

have enough at the time to move up there. You can’t just go running in ten different directions. We were very careful to see the chief of inspectors

when we came back, to keep him apprised of every move we made. ‘Keep working on it,’ Barca said.

“Next morning, I went in to see Walter Giubbini. We knew we needed more, but we had to fil in the number-two man in the D.A.’s office. Al the

fingerprinting had been negative and the handprinting of Arthur Leigh Al en had, according to Mulanax and Lundblad, been negative, but the chief

assistant sat straight up as we told him what the Al ens had related. ‘We’re pretty excited about it,’ I said.

“‘I wonder why Val ejo didn’t cal you guys,’ said Giubbini, ‘and tel you everything about this Arthur Leigh Al en.’

“‘We’re giving them everything we’ve got, Walter, so we can get closure on this. Do we have enough for a search warrant?’

“‘Frankly, you don’t. Unless you get more physical evidence, al you have is theories and speculations by the brother of Leigh Al en.’

“‘We’re making some enemies with the other jurisdictions, these other detectives,’ said Toschi.

“‘That’s natural,’ said Giubbini. ‘D.A.s are like that too. They want to hold on and hog the case. But this is too good for you to just drop off with

Jack Mulanax. You work it. They cal ed for you. It sounds good, but work it up a little bit more.’

“We just kept moving along on Al en,” continued Toschi, “kinda focusing on him, but not ruling anyone else out. You can’t do that if you want to be

a good detective. Because if al you’re thinking about is ‘John Doe,’ when ‘Charlie Smith’ is actual y your suspect, you’re in real trouble. We weren’t

getting tunnel vision on Al en and excluding other suspects. Stil , he was the best we had had up to that time. Most of what Ron and Karen told us

had already been discussed with Mulanax and Lundblad, only with more feeling with us. We were satisfied with Mulanax and his investigation. He

did what he could. But I kept in contact with Mulanax, Lundblad, and Nicolai and Narlow.

“In Val ejo there was resentment, which bothered me al the time, especial y when we went over to their headquarters. You could sense uniformed

guys kind of turning their backs and staring at us. Here I am walking in with my large black folder, which I had with me constantly. We were goading

the other guys, saying, ‘Stay with him. He’s too good to let go even if you’ve spoken to him ten times each. We are very impressed with this

suspect.’ We were getting a lot of misinformation from Val ejo, Solano. This is why there is such a long delay before we got a warrant.”

Each time Toschi descended from Homicide, he passed Giubbini’s office in the west corner of the third floor, and Giubbini would cal out, “Catch

Zodiac yet?” Then he would laugh. But as the two investigators continued to gather evidence for a search warrant, he slowly became a believer.

“Keep trying,” Giubbini said.

“Final y, when we felt we had built up enough information,” said Toschi, “that’s when we went to our lieutenant again. ‘I think maybe we could get a

search warrant,’ I said. We had a lot going, but we just pursued the case much more than the other detectives working on Arthur Leigh Al en. It just

sounded so right. That’s how we ended up final y getting a warrant.”

It was the information about Leigh’s trailer that impel ed Armstrong and Toschi to seek a search warrant specifical y for Santa Rosa. They began

laying the groundwork—a time-consuming and tedious business. The D.A.’s office, specifical y Fred Wissmann, in one county, San Francisco, had

to be convinced. A judge, James Jones, Jr., in another county, Sonoma, had to grant a warrant. If they wanted to search Al en’s basement in Val ejo

or his locker at the refinery in Pinole, that required warrants from Solano County and Contra Costa County. And negotiations with two other judges

and district attorneys.

“And al the time more information was pouring in to Armstrong and to me from Al en’s brother. I just kept gathering it up and putting it al into a

large homicide case folder. Then more physical evidence, until we reached a point where we went again to Giubbini and this time he listened.

‘Type up a search warrant for Al en in Sonoma County,’ he said, and we did.”

Thursday, September 14, 1972

“We compiled enough
to complete an affidavit through our district attorney and search whatever property Leigh had in Santa Rosa,” Toschi said.

At noon, Bil Armstrong filed an affidavit for a search warrant to the City of Santa Rosa Municipal Court, Sonoma County. Specifical y, he and

Toschi wanted close look inside Leigh’s Universal trailer parked at the Sunset Trailer Park. He requested the warrant include the shed Al en kept

adjoining the conventional trailer. Armstrong described to Judge James E. Jones, Jr., the property they sought: two 9-mil imeter guns, ammunition

for them, and any expended 9-mil imeter casings; a .22-caliber semiautomatic pistol, ammunition for it, and any expended cartridges from that

weapon. They were especial y interested in any pistol with a flashlight attached to its barrel.

The detective listed other evidence, items that fel under the province of stolen property: identification taken from the body of Paul Stine, keys to

his yel ow taxi, and the missing portion of the cabbie’s bloodstained shirt. Until recently Zodiac had been including bloodstained squares of the

fabric inside his letters. Al communications from Zodiac had abruptly ceased eighteen months ago. Toschi suspected they would never receive

another scrap of that gray-and-white-striped sport shirt. From the Lake Berryessa attack Armstrong designated the square-topped, black

executioner’s hood with a white circle and a cross emblazoned on it; black Wing Walker boots, size 10½ R; a blue bloodstained windbreaker

jacket; a large foot-long knife, one inch wide with a wooden handle with two brass rivets and tape around the handle. Armstrong did not list the

wooden brass-riveted scabbard for the knife. He spoke to the judge in chambers and went over some of the more confidential information with him.

A stenographer took down his words.

“I remember the judge reading our affidavit and saying he actual y felt we had him. ‘Good hunting, Detectives,’ he said. ‘I believe you final y have

your man.’ And the D.A. here in San Francisco said, ‘I think you’ve got him.’ Even though other detectives had talked with the brother, we couldn’t

drop the case. Our district attorney felt the same way. We just had to be sure. As usual we shared everything we did with Val ejo. We even told them

we were going to Santa Rosa with a search warrant in case they wanted to come along. And they said, ‘No.’ Bil Armstrong and I didn’t even know if

Val ejo was being up front with us in 1969-70 and ’71. They almost resented us because of everything flowing into San Francisco because of the

Chronicle.
I told Giubbini, ‘Bil and I aren’t out to badmouth the other detectives. We have a job to do.’”

Toschi picked up aspirin at the little cigar shop in the Hal of Justice. He grabbed some animal crackers from the corner store. “I’d usual y bring in

two or three boxes when we’d start to go on cal on Monday morning,” he said. “I got so I liked them. So little time and I had to eat something. My

head was almost coming off from stress. I chewed more than my share of aspirin every day, and especial y the day we went to Santa Rosa.”

Toschi and Armstrong, accompanied by Bob Dagitz, an SFPD fingerprint examiner who had worked the Stine murder, and two local deputy

sheriffs, arrived at 2963 Santa Rosa Avenue. Santa Rosa was a busy road not too far from the rush of traffic. Some of the trailers had gravel lawns

spotted with foliage more suitable for the desert. They began hunting for the trailer.

“When we make an arrest, our work in Homicide begins,” said Toschi. “Is it a strong case for the grand jury? Is it a weak case? How can I build it

up? What didn’t I do properly? Unlike my television counterparts, much of my time is spent in dealing with the families of the deceased and the

families of the suspect. I must sympathize with one and be extremely sensitive with the other. I’m an average guy and I’m an honest policeman.

Anyone who is al owed legal y to carry a loaded gun, and the right to shoot it, has power, but it cal s for a lot of common sense. When I first put on

my first gun I felt like a cowboy. I have only used it twice.” Under his corduroy jacket, on his left side, Toschi wore his upside-down triple-draw

lightning rig. A spring in the holster held his .38-caliber Colt Cobra in place. They might be going up against a dangerous and powerful man. A refil

of six bul ets and handcuffs on his right side balanced the weight.

“As I said, I’ve drawn my gun twice. I was fired upon on September 22, 1956. Afterwards, they said I’d saved the life of a man who had been shot

a few seconds before I got there. I threw him to the ground as I saw they had a shotgun. I couldn’t I.D. either one because it happened too fast. I saw

the gun at the window, actual y kicked in the door—it was not bolted too wel , and caught one guy. Got the shotgun. The other guy got caught in the

backyard. About an hour later I wondered, ‘Why was I playing such a cowboy?’ That’s the closest I came to being kil ed.”